Once upon a time there was girl named Sally, with long blonde hair. Her hair was so beautiful that a thousand tiny monsters came to live in it. They climbed up her hair, and whispered in her ears, and gnawed on her eyebrows. At night, when she fell asleep, they tangled up next to her and fell asleep, too. But no one could see them but Sally.
Sally went to the doctor, but unfortunately she was already a diagnosed schizophrenic, so the doctor just upped her medication. The monsters were real, though. Life is difficult when magic realism and real realism intersect. Sally decided she had to solve this problem by herself. She was a proactive kind of gal.
She wore a hat, but they pushed it off.
She got that shampoo kit for lice, but they told her it just “cleared their sinuses”.
She shaved her long hair, but they piled up on her bare head, and dug their little claws into her skin.
Sally was desperate. No matter how long it took, or how far she went, she would find a way to get rid of her monsters. She travelled to the deepest jungles, the highest mountains. When witches and wise men were fuck-useless, she consulted with camels and polar bears. When animals didn’t work, she asked rocks and trees. The monsters reminded her to take her medication.
At the age of 112, Sally was nearly finished building her submarine. She had a few questions for the Mariana Trench. The monsters were sharing some opinions on welding. And then she died. When she was buried, the monsters tangled up in her long grey hair and fell asleep.